The Breakup - Part II

You can break up with anyone, anytime. You can get over a breakup. Anywhere. Anytime. Anyone. Sometimes it will take time; other times you can move on like you just squashed a bug with your shoe. Done. Bye. I was ready to move on, but didn’t know how. Thoughts of Sasha, of missing Sasha, of what it used to be like with Sasha, clouded my mind. I was lucky to be able to put two sentences together. Beer helped.

I had a pothead English teacher in community college who introduced us all to the glories of Dark Side of the Moon by Pink Floyd. Mr. Panosky. I’m forever thankful. One day, after a particularly draining Bio 101 class, I trudged into his classroom ahead of the rest of my classmates. He smiled and said “I have some really neat stuff today.”

I wondered what the hell he was talking about. He kinda creeped me out a bit. He was very excited. A little too excited. He saw the look on my face. He continued.

“I’m getting divorced,” he said with another creepy smile.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. I really didn’t know what to say to that. This was 1979 and I didn’t know anyone that was divorced. The concept was totally foreign to me. Besides that, I was 18 and could care less. I was still trying to figure out what I really liked better, boobs or butts, Canadian beer or American swill. What did I care about some English teacher getting a divorce?

“No. It’s no big deal. It’s actually kind of freeing. Never mind. I’ll explain to the class when everyone gets here. It’s kinda cool.”

Okay. Kinda cool. Doubt it, Mr. Panosky. Good luck with that.

The class filed in. Everyone was typically apathetic. Nobody really got it. Everyone had a look on their face like “why are you telling us this?” I was leading the way. My face was a mask of apathy. His comings and goings and relationships and broken relationships and grading and teacher discussions were all a mystery to me. A mystery I had no interest in solving. He looked out over the sea of blank stares and cleared his throat. He was clearly – in his mind – going to share something momentous with us. We waited.

“As I’ve said, I’m getting divorced. Not that big a deal, I assure you.” He looked around the room. He seemed to see something I did not see. Interest. He continued.

“It is actually very freeing. I’ve been unhappy – I should say we’ve been very unhappy – for quite some time now. Neither of us is really sure when the relationship started to go sour. It just did… over time. That’s how it works. Life moves on, you have kids, you get jobs, you change jobs, the kids grow, the relationship takes a back seat, and the marriage goes south.”

Now I surveyed the room. Eyes were glazing over, yawns were popping up all over the place. Jeremy Kantner was just about to drop off. Mike Sullivan was leaning in talking quietly to Debbie Lowe and her 38-Ds. But Panosky wasn’t done yet. I turned my attention back to him. He now had a slightly crazed look on his face. I was beginning to get worried.

“I’m here to tell you something I realized in the last week or so. I’ve been thinking about this whole broken relationship-divorce-end of a lifelong commitment thing for months now. We’ve been separated for three months. I started really taking stock of life about two months ago. I gave myself a month to mourn the death of our marriage… anyway, I’ve discovered that” … and now his voice got a little edgy, this was the crux of this whole diatribe, he was close to peeing his pants with excitement … “there is truly no one you cannot live without.” He closed his mouth and scanned the classroom.

John Mays was two knuckles deep in his right nostril. Kathy Wells was adjusting her bra strap. Mary K. Neil had her compact out and was making tiny corrections to her makeup. I shifted and got a little more comfortable in the hard seat.

“There is truly no one you cannot live without,” he repeated. He was looking for a reaction. No one was reacting.

“What do you mean, Mr. P?” I asked, figuring I’d come to the rescue, earn a point or two, maybe even impress Debbie and her chest along the way.

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat, “parents and teachers and ministers and movies and TV all tell us stories about heartbreak and romance and how there was this person who couldn’t live without this other person. I believed it. You probably believe and don’t really think about it. I’m here to tell you it’s bullshit.”

The class was now officially paying attention. I know I was.

“That’s right. There is not a single person in this world that you just can’t live without. I thought my wife was that. I thought my Mom was that. I thought my this person or that person were that. It’s bullshit. You can live without all of them. You can carry on your life without them. You can take one day at a time, less pain and anguish than the day before, one step closer to freedom and clarity, one step further from freeze-dried bullshit.” I shook my head to clear the cobwebs. Did he just say “freeze-dried bullshit?”

“That’s right,” he added, trudging forward undaunted. “Freeze-dried bullshit. The bullshit the media and parents and ‘real world’ (he put it in finger quotes) have been feeding you. It’s a load. A great, big steaming load of horseshit.” Now which is it, I wondered, bullshit or horseshit? I was nearly giggling now, incredibly uncomfortable. The chair was suddenly biting me on the ass. I opened my mouth.

“And?” I asked, almost apologetically, as if to say 'I don’t get it.' My classmates were nodding in agreement, whatever that meant. I took it to mean that they didn’t quite get it either.

“And,” he blurted, eyes bugging from his sockets, nostrils flaring like a heated horse, “and it’s a lie. There is no one you cannot live without. That’s what came to me over the last few weeks. It came to me like a bolt out of the blue.” I never really understood that metaphor, but he was on a roll and I found myself nodding like an idiot. “It came to me like a hot kiss at the end of a wet fist.”

Now a few of my classmates were grinning just like him. They got it. They had latched onto his manic episode and were riding him like a demented donkey at a lunatic rodeo.

“Think about it people! Do you honestly believe that if Sally or Jody or Mel or Tim dumped you today or – sadly – kicked the bucket that you would not be able to go on? Do you really believe that given some time to grieve and pass the feelings like so many kidney stones you wouldn’t eventually get on with life? Nobody is saying any of this is easy. Trust me,” he smiled, “passing a kidney stone is NOT easy. But it can be done. You can carry on with your life. You can come out the other side. There is truly no one out there that you cannot live without.”

“That is my message for today.”

I looked up. The entire class period had elapsed. I was astonished. Where did the time go? It took him an hour to tell us that? My classmates were equally befuddled, but they were gathering themselves and their books and pencils and rising from their seats one at a time. As we filed past Mr. P, who stood watching us go, I smiled to myself. I smiled to myself all the way out of the building. All the way to my car.

Thanks, Mr. P.

I finally realized that I could live without Sasha. It was that easy. All it took was an English teacher going through hell and coming out the other side to tell me I could. So I did.

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'til next time...